There once was a man. A man with a plan. ‘What is this plan?’ I asked the man. ‘Glad you asked, yes I am!’

‘I’m going to travel the world on a flea, make love to a tree, invite an ostrich to tea, steal 101p, contract cancer of the knee, get an autograph from McGee, And then DIE.’

‘Wow’, I said, ‘That’s sad.’

‘Yeah’, he said ‘plus this last part doesn’t rhyme which messes up the poem.’

Then he mugged me and left me in an alley. I later learned that he spent all my money on liquor and drugs. The next time I saw my friend, he was pan handling on the street. Also, he had lost both his legs. ‘Got any… ccchhhhhhhhaaaaangeeeeeee buddddddy?’ he drawled.

‘My God! Harry, what’s happened to you?’ I asked.

‘Well, I made some bad decisions in life, mostly involving heroin and women. But it’s okay now! You’ll look after me! Right?’

So I kicked him in the face and nicked his change hat. That’ll teach him to mug me, the dopey bastard.

—-

The sad part of this story is that I actually wrote all that.

BP PLZ.